Let Me Occupy Your Mind As You Do Mine
by comebackdown
Summary: Admittedly a little AU. A party and a terribly anxious, unsure Beca, all but undone by just the sight of Chloe. The title is taken from "Hearts A Mess" by Gotye.


Disclaimer: I own NONE of the things. Neither Pitch Perfect, nor the characters.

I wondered what was on the other side. What was genuine and what was merely a pleasantry -a pacification. Did I over think, did I overestimate? Pouring meaning behind chance and calling it Fate. Like a fool. As if every time our eyes caught, it was her that initiated the gaze (_always me._) As if every time we passed, it was her breath that was caught (_always mine._)

I never had the right thing to say. I was always stilted and awkward. Mumbling something strange and somehow aggressive, or worse disconcertingly off-color. It was always a spectacle.

I longed for a real connection. For understanding. For a truth to emerge from all this confusion, the misdirection and mis-communications. Is a heart truthful? Can it be trusted? It is only a muscle. A muscle does only what it must: flex, pump, until it can no more. This is ... this is bordering on Death. Cardiac arrest. The stopping of the muscle. Truth is only in the function of the muscle. But, the Heart, the Heart as we know it, is something much greater, much more devastating. With the Heart, it can break, but the muscle still beats. You are alive, but that Heart, the non-muscle, torn asunder. Dying without dying, alone with crowds. Dissonance. Incongruence. The house falls. Ah, but far too dramatic then. Leave it. I often hear that I ought not feel sorry for myself, that it's really unbecoming, but I say in response: "If I don't, who will?". This is a task that needs to be brought to completion. I am just the candidate for the job.

Still, all the same, it's a bore. I am a bore. (_Only boring people are bored_, my father's phrase echoed in my ears.) All that really mattered, all that really and actually meant something was the music. Appropriation. Re-appropriation. Sounds and sighs all dormant and still, and my clever hands and steely ears bringing them together. All found notes and timbres, and a repackage, a new expression of an old feeling. Nostalgia reconfigured and reanimated, greater than before.  
Or at least that's what I hope. In reality, the whole process just feels good. Just feels right. I can understand it. But, Chloe? What could I understand about Chloe? Chloe. What could I say about her? If pressed, I would put it aside. But really - but really, oh it's everything. I like how she speaks, the use of her word, the modulation of her speech. Oh god I could love her. Oh god. Heaven, Heaven help me. So why then?

Eyes peering over rims of cups, glazed and untrustworthy. He sat, perched on the counter top, nonchalant but not quite aloof. How could he be - when she stood, sweet coquette, grinning and slowed, between his legs. His eyebrow quirked, and small grin began to form, held up by a strong jaw.

I felt sick. Desperate. Just the two of them then. And me. From afar. Small crime. Watching and torturing this foolhardy heart. That could be me. Those could be my lucky arms she rested soft hands on. That could be me. I could keep her safe. I could be everything they weren't. I could be perfect for her. (_No! STOP._) I exhaled deeply as some rather seemingly (_the key word, of course_) innocuous song started through the speakers. Distraction. As I begin to turn and leave, she somehow senses something and catches me - perhaps uncomfortable, perhaps expectant (_kind lie._)

"Beca! Wait up!" She broke away from the reverie with the counter-boy who looked disappointed at her change of heart. She kissed him on the cheek - she'll be back, she just loooooves this song.

I could pretend I never heard her, before I could even try, she stood before me. Grabbing my hand, raising it above her head and leading me into the middle of the dancing throng. If ever there were a time to strike me down, may G-d hear me now. But it is wonderful, really, to see her enjoy herself. Letting burden fall away and she smiles and sinks into the music. (_Agony. But sweet._) For a moment I tried to close my eyes and be anywhere else, if I could stand it. (_Futility._)

Her laughter teased my ears and there she was: clad in sweat, eyes like velvet, sultry and undulating like the sighs of her breast. She threw a sly smile and my balance was all but undone.

"You drank too much" she said.  
"I'm fine." Deadpan. She moved closer and shook her head as she grinned mischievously.  
"Don't think I didn't see that stumble."  
"Who stumbled?"  
"Mhm." Barely shaking her head, knowingly. "It's hot in here, I'm going outside." Halfhearted. Halfheartedly because as the words barely fell off my tongue to get lost in the din, she latched her gaze straight into my bloodshot eyes. Twisted those siren lips again (_with that thousand ship smile_) and stepped closer. Her hips rolled in perfect union. Her hair was loose and curling from the humidity of all the other bodies. Where is my breath? I was struggling, desperate to find it, and she, she held it in that quivering space of a mouth. I was drowning in lust, in her scent, sweet and tortuous. Still she advanced - oh G-d, oh G-d. I could hear her breath as it touched my chest, as she raised slender arms to rest on each shoulder, clasped her hands behind my neck. Still she wound, her thighs tangled my paralyzed legs. I won't survive this. My neck bent from her hands, my forehead pressed like sin onto her own. I felt it all. All. The contractions of her muscles, her chest heaving on mine, her teasing thighs as they rub against my unrepentant body. I didn't want to meet her eyes, to become another block of stone, but G-D how strong was the pull! I caved, unraveled into her gaze, that fine lineament clotting my blood.

I pictured her, undressed, resting on my bed. Sleep, sweet and delicate. My hands, trailing her curves, kissing lightly, burying bits of my soul beneath her skin with each touch. She would smile, warm and lazy. I'd hold her. Maybe she'd hold me. What an embrace. I can't stand this. Can't stand this knowledge. This burn. I could comfort her, I could make her life so - gentle. Sweet. Yes, I know, I have no other words for it. Delicate but tender. (_Nobody needs to know._)

That's enough for now. I couldn't - I turned around, and began pushing through outside. Damn it. Just leave. Just go. Just stop. Why won't she leave me be? Give me peace. Respite from this. G-d. I can't. I'm a fraud. I'm no good here. Not good enough. "Becs! You alright?" Someone called after me as I pushed through the crowd. All elbows and barely-mumbled apologies for the spilled drinks in my wake. Cold. Pretty thing. I stood on some excuse of a patio, and turned away from the house. Eyes upward towards overcast skies, waiting for something. Shaky hands to steady and cold air to drink drink drink. The air was fresh but uncomfortable, stinging any exposed skin. Rotten jacket, I left it somewhere behind a chair I think. No good to me now. (_If you're going outside take a jacket! You might catch a cold!, _my mother's words ringing.)

"JESUS CHRIST! It's FREEZING. Oh my G-d. BECA ARE YOU CRAZY? Where's your jacket? You'll catch a cold out here." A voice from behind me. Not my mother's voice. No. Chloe's.  
"It's inside. I think."  
"Beca, it's fucking freezing out here. Come on, let's go inside."  
"I don't want to go inside just yet. It's fine."  
"You're drunk, you're not gauging the temperature correctly. Your body is - "  
"Chloe, I get it. It's cold, and I don't have a jacket." (_Why haven't I turned around? Why can't I just TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT HER?_) The words came out harsh, biting, like this damned wind. "Sorry." Strained, sighed. "Listen, are you okay? You just up and left in the middle of the song!"  
"I'm fine. I needed some air."  
"You looked like you were going to be sick."  
"No. Maybe. I don't know. Listen, it's fine. I'm fine. Really. Go back inside. Enjoy the party." (_You're a liar, and you know it. But does she?_)  
"Well, maybe I wanted to get some air too."  
Frustrated. Exasperated. I still haven't turned around. "Is there a reason you don't want to look at me?" (_GET OUT OF MY HEAD WOMAN_.) Shivering and stubborn. Fine. Suddenly, a warmth. She draped her jacket over my shoulders, playfully bumping into me.

I can't do this anymore.

I opted for weakness instead. I turned into her and the great deluge of tears began. Shivering from the cold or shaking from the weight. "Aw...Beca. No. Shhhh, shhhh. It'll be okay, Sweetie. You're alright. Shhh, shhh." She repeated it, a mantra tightly wound. She ran her hands through my hear, coaxing and quieting, calming. Intermittently kissing the top of my head, and intermittently, I fell harder and harder. How long did we stand? Me, caved into her completely, and her, burdened with this pathetic display.

"Becs, please, c'mon. It's really cold outside." She rubbed her hands up and down my arms.

I never felt so warm. I never felt so cold.


End file.
